


Intrusion

by junes_discotheque



Series: kill your addiction [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Daddy Kink, Internalized Homophobia, Masturbation, Porn Watching, QPQVerse, Repression, Spanking, and not so implied UST, implied ust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junes_discotheque/pseuds/junes_discotheque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson discovers Burr and Madison have been recording Washington's hideaway.</p><p>It's a little much for him to take, to be honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intrusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rillrill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Quid Pro Quo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880157) by [rillrill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill). 



> So yeah, this is fanfiction of a fanfiction. I've been wanting to play in this sandbox for awhile now and apparently this is what decided to pop out of my brain. Thomas Jefferson and his angry boners. Heyyy.

When he first receives the invitation to Aaron Burr’s apartment for a  _ private  _ discussion, Jefferson’s suspicious. The fact that Madison shows up at his office door a half hour later with about as wide a grin as Madison ever gets doesn’t do much to assuade the creeping feeling that this is going to end  _ badly.  _

Burr’s relationship with Madison’s Chief of Staff aside, the man’s still Washington’s. Playing both sides like this doesn’t exactly endear him to Jefferson. A snake’s a snake, no matter where it’s slithering.

Still, Madison’s all but ordered him to come tonight. Not that he’s beholden to  _ Madison,  _ but--

-

He brings two bottles of the finest Cabernet he could find at Whole Foods and presents them to Burr with a smirk. 

“I don’t suppose you have a decanter?”

Burr’s expression doesn’t so much as twitch. He takes the wine and waves Jefferson inside. “Anyone know you’re here?”

“My driver, obviously,” Jefferson says, raising an eyebrow at the kid. “No one else.”

“Good,” Burr says. Jefferson makes an effort not to roll his eyes. Sure, Senator Washington’s policy director inviting his boss’s enemies over for a nightcap isn’t exactly the best look, but it’s not illegal.

-

Unauthorized surveillance, on the other hand, is  _ incredibly  _ illegal. Jefferson takes a long drag of (subpar, overly-tannic) wine and tamps down on his rising excitement. 

Aaron Burr recorded Washington’s hideaway.

He leans in close to the screen. Burr has a list of dates and times on a yellow legal pad by his elbow. He pulls up the first one on his laptop, looks at Jefferson, looks at Madison, and takes a deep breath.

“You might want to hold onto something,” he says to Jefferson. Madison is grinning.

-

_ “You could punish me, if that’s what you want.” _

_ “Is that what you want?” _

_ “Please. You said there would be consequences if I screwed up.” _

_ “I did warn you. Stand up and take off your jacket.” _

-

Jefferson digs his nails into the soft wood of Burr’s kitchen table. Even over the (clearly cheap) wire, the slaps ring out high and sharp, and each one sends a new jolt of disgust through Jefferson’s gut. He shifts a little on his feet, trying to shake the deeply uncomfortable feeling overwhelming him.

“So he’s abusing his assistant?” Jefferson asks. His voice is painfully weak, he realizes, as weak as the thin hope that this isn’t going where he thinks it’s going. He feels a little dizzy. On the other side of Burr’s chair, Madison coughs. 

“Wait for it,” Burr responds.

A dozen more hard slaps echo from the laptop.

_ “Count them.” _

The slaps are louder now, and when Hamilton speaks, his voice is  _ wrecked.  _ Jefferson shudders, a cold wave of horror overwhelming him as he  _ realizes-- _

“And that was--” Madison says. Burr pauses the tape. That was--that was  _ absolutely _ \--

Jefferson lets out a high, gleeful yelp. “This is--”

“Not enough,” Madison finishes for him. Looks at Burr, and it hits him--Madison knew. The whole time, he  _ knew.  _ “Show him what else you have.”

\- 

They get through both bottles of Cabernet, a bottle of cheap Shiraz that Burr fished out of his pantry, and are passing a bottle of Captain Morgan (“show some fucking  _ pride  _ in your stash, man, you’re not an undergrad”) between them when Burr finally sits back.

“So, that’s--” he starts.

“Damning,” Madison completes.

Jefferson chokes on his next swallow of rum. “ _ Daddy, _ ” he says, and nearly collapses into a fit of giggles. This is the best day of his  _ life.  _ Better than winning his first election. Better than winning  _ all  _ his elections,  _ combined. _

Madison grabs his arm. “We’ll have to discuss how to handle this,” he says.  _ Handle.  _ Jefferson nearly falls over again, delirious with glee. It’s still utterly disgusting, what Hamilton and Washington have been doing, but that’s the beauty of it-- _ nobody  _ can defend this. Washington’s little whore. Washington’s little  _ princess.  _ The headlines are going to be  _ glorious. _

“Fair,” Burr says. He unplugs the hard drive. “You’re keeping this, though. I don’t want it anywhere near me.”

“Of course,” Madison replies, almost absently. “I’ll be in touch. I should get  _ this one  _ back home.” He wraps an arm around Jefferson’s waist. His thumb brushes a spot where Jefferson’s shirt has ridden up, exposing a bit of his stomach. Jefferson flinches away from the touch, painful on his too-heated skin. Madison doesn’t seem to notice.

“Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Burr says. Jefferson doesn’t see the silent exchange following that, too busy staring at the swimming pattern on the tile floor, but a moment later he hears Burr swallow and add, “sir,” in a quiet, deferential tone. It occurs to him that it’s the first time Burr’s actually been respectful all night.

“Good night, Aaron.”

Another gulp. “Congressman. Senator.”

-

Madison rides back to Jefferson’s house with him. He doesn’t let Jefferson speak--and  _ god,  _ Jefferson is  _ dying  _ to--but he seems to think Jefferson’s driver can’t be trusted. Which is fine by him. Considering what they just heard, what they’re about to do, he doesn’t think there’s such a thing as  _ too careful _ .

Still, the way Madison keeps cutting him off rankles. The irritation swirls in him, with all the disgust he’s been feeling towards the recordings, a thick, unyielding knot of tension.

Madison  _ also  _ insists on helping him inside like he’s a goddamn invalid. Jefferson pushes at him, tries to argue that he’s a  _ grown man,  _ dammit, it’ll take a lot more than some cheap wine and shitty rum to knock him on his ass.

“Burr was right. We can’t do anything stupid,” Madison says.

“Like what?”

“Like going to the press before we’re ready.” Madison tucks a hand into the pocket of his coat and tilts his head, regarding Jefferson. It’s a deeply uncomfortable look, and Jefferson’s never been quite sure what to do with it. “We have to discuss options.”

“Options?”

“What we want for it.”

Jefferson nods. “Understood,” he says. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a bath and go to bed. I can call you a car--”

“No need. Ordered an Uber from yours. Goodnight, Jefferson,” he says, and leaves.

Jefferson’s arms drop to his side, heavy, and he stares at the front door. He has the unshakable feeling that he’s missing something here, but it’s late, and he really does need a bath. Preferably eight, though he doubts even that will be enough to wash away the memory of Hamilton’s voice crying  _ please, Daddy,  _ in between sobs, while Washington grunted--

He shudders.

Bath. Definitely.

-

It takes a full hour of soaking in lavender-infused bubbles before Jefferson feels clean enough to come out. He’s also sobered up in the meantime, which he supposes is supposed to be a good thing, but it also means the alcohol haze isn’t there to distract him from what he’s heard.

He shudders as he wraps himself in a long white robe. Considers running himself another bath, but his fingertips are already starting to prune. He needs a drink.

He needs a  _ distraction. _

-

Ultimately, he decides against another drink. As traumatizing as tonight has been, he can’t walk around drunk forever. Especially not if he wants to keep his job. 

He changes into his favorite plum silk pajama pants. The house is warm enough that he can forego a shirt, and he does, walking out of his bedroom with bare feet and chest. His hair is tied up neatly and he runs a hand absently over the hard planes of his stomach as he makes his way to the living room.

There are a few movies on his On Demand he’s been meaning to watch, and tonight seems like the  _ perfect  _ time to do so. He’s earned it, he thinks, pulling up the one he’s been thinking about since he dropped his robe on his bedroom floor and made up his mind.

-

The girl is pretty, brunette, with huge dark eyes and soft olive skin. Her tits are a perfect handful each, with erect, dusky nipples. Her wide, soft mouth parts enticingly for the thick, dark cock. Jefferson sighs and slides his hand down his stomach, tracing his perfectly toned abs.

He focuses on the girl’s hand as it wraps around the cock.

_ “What do we say?” _ a deep voice growls out of frame. Jefferson’s dick twitches in his silk pants.

_ “Please,” _ the girl begs. Jefferson drags the front of his pants down over his cock.

-

_ “Yeah, bitch. You like that, don’t you. Like it when I fuck that throat.” _ The girl nods. Her eyes are watering, her dark mascara a mess on her high cheekbones. Her mouth is stretched wide and red around the cock.

Jefferson slides his hand slowly down his own dick, savoring. Fuck. This was what he needed. Good, wholesome--none of that  _ perverted, deviant-- _

_ “Like sucking Daddy’s cock, don’t you, slut?” _

Jefferson’s hand stutters on his shaft as he’s hit with the memory of Washington’s voice, and he’s  _ sure _ it’s just his memories scrambling together, but he could have sworn the movie guy shares the exact tone. He squirms on the couch, tries to banish the unwanted thought.

His erection hasn’t flagged.

-

Jefferson’s not sure why he hasn’t turned the movie off.

The girl’s draped over the guy’s thick, powerful thighs. His large hands hold her in place, one wrapped around her tiny waist, the other--

_ “Ow!” _

\--the other coming down hard on her pretty, pink ass. He focuses on her, imagines himself in the man’s position, spanking that perfect, firm ass, feeling the pretty thing squirming in his lap, dipping his fingers down and dragging them along her wet cunt. Asking her if she’s ready to be fucked yet.

The spanking pauses for a moment and the man grips her hair. The girl cries out, half sobbing, and Jefferson’s own scalp aches in sympathy. 

It starts up again, louder, harder, and Jefferson shifts on his couch. The fifteen-thousand-dollar leather has always been  _ exceptionally  _ comfortable, but right now it’s oddly uncomfortable. Sore, almost.

The girl’s ass is red. 

_ “Please, Daddy, please fuck me!” _

-

He takes her from behind, fucking her cunt with that thick cock until her hole’s as red as her ass, his large, dark hands gripping and pressing into the red marks on her skin and leaving new ones on her hips. She wails and cries and grips the sheets and begs Daddy to fuck her harder.

-

She has a perfect asshole.

It takes dick like it was made for it.

Jefferson fucks his hand in time with the man’s thrusts. Cants his hips up. Thinks about her lying under him, begging him like she’s begging the man.

His fingers slip a little.

One catches on the rim of his ass.

He shoots off against his stomach like a shock, yells out before he can think. He lies there, after, with one hand on his balls and the other on his thigh.

-

He closes his eyes.

 

-

 

“Daddy’s calling.”

The second it comes out of his mouth, Jefferson knows it’s a mistake, but the glee at Hamilton’s shocked expression is more than enough to make up for it. He doesn’t bother masking any of it.

Madison won’t be happy, he knows. They have a timetable.

-

Madison’s more than unhappy. He’s furious. If he were anyone else, he’d be shouting--and as it is, this  _ is  _ shouting, for Madison.

“What part of  _ timetable  _ did you not understand?”

Jefferson shrugs.

Madison sighs and runs a hand across his eyes. “Okay. Okay, we can deal with this. Moves things up a little, but--Okay.”

“I  _ am  _ sorry,” Jefferson says.

Madison taps his right hand against his thigh. Jefferson can’t look away. Madison’s hand is wide, his palm broad and heavy, and--

Two distinct memories fill his head. The echos of slaps over a grainy wire and cheap laptop speaker overlaid with the same sound over his own 9-speaker home theater system. He shifts his weight to his left foot, then to his right. His mouth is dry.

“Jefferson?”

“Right,” Jefferson says, shaking his head. His voice comes out high and reedy. “Let me know…” He trails off. Swallows. “Just let me know."

“Sure,” Madison says.

-

Jefferson retreats to his hideaway.

Muffles himself with his fist as he thinks about the girl from the movie. He can’t be sure Burr or Madison haven’t bugged his hideaway, too, though he’s mostly positive they don’t know where it is.

He comes on the image of a hand poised over an ass, and the faint, humming echo of a choked-off word.


End file.
